The Warbler Games
by The Hypocritical Critic
Summary: When Kurt steps up to compete in the Warbler Games, a battle to the death amongst the twenty-four tributes from across the nation, he never considers the possibility that he will have to face the boy he loves in the arena.  Klaine.  Rated for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**The Warbler Games**

**Part One || The Tributes**

**Chapter One**

After a morning of hunting in the woods, Kurt Hummel washed the dirt off of his smooth, pale skin and dressed in his best clothes. Though decent fabric was hard to come by in District Twelve, Kurt made every effort to look his best, and thus he donned a simple blue shirt and black pants with a tailored white jacket.

His hulking stepbrother Finn did not share the same ideas, and so Kurt sat on the kitchen counter an hour before the reaping stitching the frayed cuff of Finn's sleeve. He cut the spare thread with his teeth when he finished and proudly said, "Good as new. You're finally somewhat presentable for the reaping. You wouldn't want to disappoint the people watching in the Capitol."

"Don't say stuff like that," Finn groaned, turning a little green. "I don't want to think about it at all."

Kurt nodded sympathetically, knowing that Finn's name and his own had been entered in the reaping over twenty times each. Growing up in District Twelve, neither of them had very much, and so as soon as they were of age, they both opted to enter their named additional times in exchange for tesserae, a small ration of oil and grain. Those rations had kept Kurt and his father alive after his mother's death and during his father's illness, but right now, Kurt wondered what the cost was if he was only going to die in the Games anyway. However, he and Finn were better off than some of the other boys in District Twelve. He knew for a fact that Noah Puckerman's name was entered upwards of forty times.

"The odds are in our favor, Finn," Kurt said, trying to keep his demeanor as sunny as possible. After the year he'd had, he felt that things would have to start looking up for him eventually. He smoothed down the collar of Finn's shirt and continued, "We're a family now, Finn. Nothing is going to ruin what we have. I won't let it."

"Thanks, little bro," Finn said, giving him a forced grin, which Kurt appreciated.

As one o'clock drew closer, the Hummel-Hudson brothers trekked out to the square near the Justice Building. On most days, children ran through the green, but during the reaping, the space was filled with melancholy families all praying to a nonexistent god not to take away their children for the Warbler Games. On the fringes of the square, groups of older men huddled together, taking bets on who they think will be selected as a tribute, but Kurt ignored their muttering as he sauntered past. Finn peered over the growing crowd, grabbing Kurt's sleeve and pulling him toward their parents. Even on the day of the reaping, a day of "celebration", their parents had work to attend to to keep food on the table, and so they met here instead.

Carole immediately pulled her sons into a fierce hug and kissed them each on the cheek. "You both look so handsome," she said, wiping away a smudge of dirt on Finn's cheek. "Good luck, boys."

Burt squeezed Finn's shoulder then turned to Kurt. "Only two more of these to go, and then you're done."

"Yes, then the only thing I'll have to worry about is getting the coal stains out of my clothes or suffocating to death in the mines," Kurt said with a wry smile.

His father sarcastically quipped back, "That's the spirit."

With a last smile to their parents, Finn and Kurt joined the crowd of seventeen-year-old boys, most of whom were fidgeting uncomfortably in their best clothes and sweating in anticipation and fear. Kurt was squished between Finn and Puck, who towered over him, but made Kurt feel very safe on such a terrifying day.

Each year, the twelve remaining districts of Panem selected two young men to compete in the Warbler Games, a punishment for the legendary uprising against the Capitol nearly a hundred years ago. Back then, the Warblers had been a group of rebels set on destroying the harmony created by the Capitol, and they operated in the now obliterated District Thirteen. As a constant reminder of its power, the Capitol called for the blood of each district's sons each year to compete in the Warbler Games.

The televised games took the twenty-four tributes and locked them in an arena, ranging anywhere from a rich rainforest to an Arctic wasteland, and had them fight to the death. Though the victor gained fame and money and glory for both himself and his district, it could not have been worth the deaths of his twenty-three fellows.

_Your name is just one in thousands_, Kurt reassured himself as the clock hit the hour and the mayor stepped up to the podium. _There is no way you'll be chosen._

"It is both a time for repentance and thanks," Mayor Figgins said with no emotion in his voice. He then read through a brief history of Panem, culminating the list of victors from District Twelve. Although most districts boast at least a handful of living victors, their list starts and ends with Jesse St. James, the winner of the Warbler Games only three years ago. Jesse sat on the platform behind the mayor, haughty and handsome, looking bored as April Rhodes, the haggard and inebriated escort from the Capitol, stumbled up to the podium.

"Happy Warbler Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" April screeches, as always too enthused for such a dim affair. "Let's kick off this shindig!"

Mayor Figgins rubbed his temples in distress. As though District Twelve was not already the joke of Panem, April's drunken shenanigans being televised across the nation would do nothing to help their image. Kurt almost laughed when April nearly knocked over the glass ball of names to choose a slip, but his grin felt punched off his face when she proclaimed the first tribute's name.

"Finn Hudson!"

At first, Kurt could not feel anything except for his fingernails digging into Finn's sweaty palm, desperately clinging to him and just holding on while he still could. Since Burt and Carole got together over a year ago, Finn had been more than just a brother to him. He worked while Burt was still recovering from his heart attack, helped Kurt hunt large game to keep them from starving, and was an all-around good guy. Their family _needed_ Finn.

A choked sob in the crowd broke Kurt out of his trance. He turned to see Rachel Berry, Finn's girlfriend, breaking down completely, collapsing against Quinn and Mercedes. He could not even bear to turn around to look at Carole, no doubt silently crying as his father pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair. Kurt swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and looked up at Finn. His sturdy older brother was shaking with fear and tears streaming down his face, too terrified to move.

Without thinking for a moment longer, Kurt released Finn's hand and bounded up to the podium. "I volunteer!" he shouted, joining April on the platform. "I volunteer to be a tribute."

It didn't even sound like his voice, for it was so assured despite the fact that Kurt knew coming from District Twelve, being a tribute meant certain death. Fine struggled in the crowd against Mike and Puck, shouting helplessly, "Kurt, no! Don't do this! Kurt!" But Kurt gave him a small, accepting smile.

"Ooh, a volunteer!" April exclaimed, the delight in her voice not stirring the crowd in the slightest. She slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "What's your name, cutie pie?"

His voice caught in his throat, but he choked out, "Kurt Hummel."

"How about a round of applause for your tribute?" April shouted, trying to rile up the crowd, but no one moves. Tears began to well up in Kurt's eyes, because though he was never popular in District Twelve, especially not with his classmates, no one wished such a horrific fate on anyone. He made no attempt to look for his few friends of his family in the silent, shocked faces. Kurt just stood stoically on the platform, a quiet acceptance of his fate.

April leaned close to Kurt and mumbled through a cloud of alcohol, "Tough crowd."

Kurt nodded mutely.

April sauntered over to the glass ball again, fishing around for another slip of paper. Kurt took a deep breath, knowing that the name on that slip would not be his fellow District Twelve tribute, but rather his opponent in the arena.

"Blaine Anderson!"

The color drained from Kurt's face and his limbs went numb. Even if he ever _remotely_ thought he had a chance in hell in winning the Warbler Games, he would never be able to kill Blaine Anderson.

Kurt never thought he would have to enter in the arena and slaughter the boy he loves.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my first Glee crossover fic. Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Warbler Games**

**Part One || The Tributes**

**Chapter Two**

As Blaine made his way up the stairs to join Kurt on the platform, Kurt's heart sank in his chest and weighted him to the ground. A scream burned at the back of his throat but his mouth was too dry to make a sound. Each step Blaine took seemed to require him great effort and concentration, forcing himself to move forward instead of bolting for the woods. Kurt counted the steady rhythm of Blaine's steps like a waltz, _one—two—three_—_one—two—three_, until Blaine stood beside him. He looked over the audience, and his beautiful hazel eyes, which often sparkled brightly with hope, even in a place as desolate as District Twelve, appeared empty; it was as though a part of him had died before he even stepped into the arena.

Mayor Figgins read the Treaty of Treason aloud, part of the annual ritual, and Kurt looked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Of all the boys, why did Blaine, the one person who ever gave him hope in this miserable world, have to enter the arena with him?

After Burt's heart attack a few months ago, just before the wedding, the tormenting at school nearly knocked the life out of Kurt. For as long as he could remember, Kurt had been bullied mercilessly in school, but it grew steadily worse as he got older. He has been tossed into trash bins, pushed to the ground, all for just being who he was. Places as primitive as District Twelve were not as accepting of homosexuality as other districts, but Kurt made no effort to hide his true self, and that got him into trouble. Unlike most of the other boys at school who were set to work in the mines as their fathers before them, Kurt refused to accept this fate. Instead, he set his sights on moving to the Capitol and becoming someone, like one of the designers or entertainers featured during the Warbler Games. (Finally making it to the Capitol only to be a pawn in the Games made Kurt feel sick.)

Because he needed to pay for his father's medical bills and his father needed to eat to regain his strength, Kurt let himself go hungry. He went to school shaking with starvation, accepting food from his friends when offered, but they too were never properly fed. In his weakened state, Kurt could not muster the strength or desire to fight off the bullies. When they hit Kurt or knocked him into walls or told him he was worthless, Kurt just let them. He had already lost his mother and was on the verge of losing his father. He had nothing to live for here on earth, and the only thing he wanted was to disappear into loneliness.

Fortunately, the odds had been in his favor then. Burt healed and married Carole, and they immediately transferred Kurt to another school across the district. On his very first day of his new life, Kurt gently tapped a boy with curly dark hair on the shoulder and asked, "Excuse me, I'm pretty sure I'm lost. I'm—I'm new."

Unlike everyone else he ever met in District Twelve, this boy smiled easily at him. Usually people were suspicious and defensive when approached, but this boys' eyes were alight with excitement and hope. "My name is Blaine," he said, politely extending his hand.

"Kurt," he replied, awkwardly shaking Blaine's hand.

Blaine had walked him to class that day and to each of his classes every day for his first week at school. Never before had he met someone so selfless and kind without wanting anything but friendship in return. Over the past few weeks, Kurt got to know Blaine better. They even hunted and fished in the woods together, sharing tricks of their trades to bring home more food and pelts to sell in the Hub. Blaine was good at climbing and shot down large game from a high angle, while Kurt was quick on his feet and good at setting traps. They would split their haul evenly, and afterwards, they would quietly sing on the way home.

Only a few days ago, when preparations for the reaping had started to buzz around the district, Kurt and Blaine lay in the meadow, looking up at the cloudless blue sky. Kurt idly weaved together a few long-stemmed flowers, while Blaine sang quietly under his breath.

"Hey, Kurt?" he asked softly, tilting his head back to get a better look at Kurt. He merely mumbled in acknowledgement, and Blaine asked, "Do you ever think about what would happen if you were chosen as a tribute?"

"You mean forced to compete against my will?" Kurt replied, setting his wreath of flowers on his head. "What do you think?"

Blaine gave him a small smile. "Pretty," he said, then got to his knees and knelt in front of Kurt. "But seriously. What would you do?"

Kurt's cheeks blushed as Blaine looked at him with those innocent, honest eyes. "I would tell all the people I loved how much they meant to me," he said quietly, never breaking away from Blaine's gaze. "I would tell them how they changed me and made my whole life worth living, even if it was a short life. And when I got into the arena, I would do everything I could to make them proud of me, even if it meant I would never come home."

For a moment, Kurt swore Blaine's eyes flickered onto his lips, but then Blaine was just smiling at him. "Sorry, I've just been thinking a lot about this stuff lately. I don't mean to be dramatic."

"Well, you know how I adore the dramatic," Kurt said, gracefully getting to his feet. Blaine followed, the pair of them returning home before the woods grew too dark.

The things Kurt had said that day in the meadow echoed in his ears as he stood on the platform. He never had anyone in his life like Blaine, and although they had not known each other very long, he could feel himself falling in love with him. He craved every touch, memorized the songs Blaine sang in the woods, soaked in his warmth and kindness. During the hardest time in Kurt's life, Blaine had been there to renew his belief in people and give him courage, the two things the impending Games were already taking away from him.

When the anthem of Panem echoed eerie through the square, Kurt jerked his head toward Blaine, and they shook hands just like on the day they first met. Blaine curled his fingers around Kurt's warm palm, holding onto his gaze to try and block out the rest of the world and the emotions pooling in his chest. Kurt blinked back the tears, and Blaine squeezed his hand, either to comfort Kurt or to hold onto him to keep himself standing. Kurt began to hum along with the anthem, and the corner of Blaine's mouth twitched into a melancholy smile as he too hummed quietly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thank you everyone for your overwhelmingly positive response to the first chapter. Your reviews here and your support over on Tumblr have been amazing! I hope you enjoyed the second chapter as much as I loved writing it.

I expect to finish the third chapter in the next day or so. Please review and let me know what you think. Thank you again!


	3. Chapter 3

**The Warbler Games**

**Part One || The Tributes**

**Chapter Three**

After a few closing comments from Mayor Figgins and a small spectacle when April attempted coax Jesse St. James into singing a good luck duet to the tributes, the Peacekeepers led Kurt and Blaine into the Justice Building. There was no opportunity to say anything to one another, but even if there had been a moment, what could Kurt have said? No words of comfort, no wishes of luck, and no eleventh-hour proclamations of love were exchanged between them, only a look of what Kurt could only call understanding as Blaine disappeared around the corner as was led to a separate room to say goodbye to his loved ones.

The room was far more ornate and beautifully decorated than anywhere Kurt had been in his life. Sheer, flowing fabrics hung over the windows and velvet, cushy pillows were placed on the seats. He waited for the door to open, doing his best to prepare himself for his final farewells. He felt strangely numbed by the pounding of too many emotions at once, the hate and anguish and hopelessness and love all swelling inside him and imploding so that he could hardly feel anything.

Finn blundered into the room first and clutched Kurt to his chest, his sobbing a mess of incoherent apologies. Kurt could hardly breathe in Finn's hold, and he vaguely thought that Finn's strength would have been a huge asset to him in the Games; however, that was not the way things were.

"Finn," Kurt said harshly, grabbing him by the arms and pushing him back. "You have to take care of Dad and Carole. They _need_ you." As Kurt ran through a list of his best hunting places in the woods and his daily household responsibilities, Finn nodded in acknowledgement and calmed down. Maybe it took Kurt speaking to him in his familiar, slightly condescending tone, like nothing had changed that made Finn pull himself together. This was the moment Finn realized that Kurt's sacrifice was ultimately for their family.

When Kurt had run out of things to say, Finn pulled him into another hug. "I always wanted a brother," Finn said hoarsely. "You're the best little brother I could have ever asked for."

Kurt smiled, eyes red and shining with tears, but he refused to break down in front of his family. They had to stay strong.

Carole entered the room next, and she said nothing. She simply wound her arms around Kurt and held him for a long moment, a gentle reminder that he would always be her son. Kurt inhaled the smell of her perfume, the smell of orchids and wood, and that smell of some spice he could never quite identify. Kurt still missed his own mother every day, but Carole had been so wonderful to his father and to him. She took care of them, loved Kurt as much as Finn, and gave him the support he always craved. With a last kiss pressed to his cheek, she left.

Surprisingly, the next person permitted to visit him was Rachel Berry. They were friends in a twisted, competitive way, and though Kurt hated to admit it, part of the reason he was sitting in this room was so that Finn finally had a chance to live happily ever after with his dream girl, something Kurt would never have.

She sat down beside him, smoothing out the white fabric of her dress over her knees before taking Kurt's hand on holding it her lap. "How are you feeling?" she asked, and Kurt actually snorted out a laugh.

"Fantastic. You know how much I've always wanted to go to the Capitol."

Rachel forced a smile. "I wanted to give you this," she said, pressing a small metal button into his hand. When she pulled her hand away, Kurt saw that it wasn't a button, but a small gold pin shaped like a star. Rachel sniffed and hastily wiped her eyes and taking a deep breath to keep herself composed. "I thought you could wear it for luck during the Games, since… we always dreamed of making it big in the Capitol, Kurt. Maybe this is your chance."

"There are twenty-four tributes, Rachel, and I'm just… me."

"That's not the Kurt Hummel I know," Rachel said. She took the pin from him and carefully fastened the token to the lapel of his jacket, then swooped down and kissed his cheek. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Before the door shut, Kurt grabbed her wrist and met her eyes. "Take care of Finn."

"I promise."

Finally, Burt came to see his son for their dreaded goodbye, and Kurt could not hold it together any longer. He jumped up and threw his arms around his father's neck, crying against his chest like when he was a child. He never meant to abandon his father, who had already lost so much and given up everything to give his son the best life he could, but Kurt had volunteered for this. Though he had made his choice, in his father's strong, comforting embrace, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to live.

"Kurt," his father said with his steady voice, "look at me." Kurt blinked him into focus, tears still coursing down his face. "You can win this."

"I—I can't."

"They just want a good show, that's all the Capitol wants," he said, running his fingers through Kurt's hair and ruffling it a bit. "Who better to give them a show than you?" Kurt paused for a moment and considered this, because maybe his dad was right. Burt continued, "Listen, you won't be the biggest guy in that arena or the strongest, but you are a fighter, Kurt. You can defend yourself, and you can _outsmart_ them. You're fast, get a weapon at the Cornucopia and _run_. Then plan from there. You got that?"

He nodded, even though he still doubted himself. "Got it."

"And I know you don't want to think about it... but don't be afraid to kill someone." His father's hands rubbed his shoulders. "You and me know about death and how important life is, but I want you to come home."

Kurt closed his eyes and leaned against Burt again. "I love you, Dad."

The Peacekeepers returned too soon, long before they were ready to let got, so. Kurt still held onto his father, not knowing what final words to say. He wanted to give him some comfort before he was carted off to his execution.

"If something happens," Kurt called after him, "I'll say hello to mom for you."

With absolute conviction, Burt replied, "You'll see me again long before you see her, son."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Your reviews have been so wonderful, I hope you are all enjoying reading as much as I am enjoying writing. A lot of you mentioned being excited about meeting the other tributes, and I promise you'll at least catch a glimpse of them in the next chapter.

Unfortunately, my finals have begun, and I have several papers and projects due next week, but I am hoping to update again over the weekend. Thank you again for reading, and good luck to any of you who are likewise facing impending academic doom.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Warbler Games**

**Part One || The Tributes**

**Chapter Four**

The Peacekeepers whisked Kurt from the Justice Building, and in the short drive to the train station, he dried the tears from his eyes on his sleeve to mask the fact that he had been crying. No matter how upset he was, he needed to keep up the pretense that he was strong and a contender in the Games. His father believed in him, and Kurt needed to convince _himself_ that his father's conviction was warranted.

The station, seldom used except for coal export and sending the Tributes to the Capitol, was packed with cameras and reporters, all hoping for a glimpse of District Twelve's tributes. As he neared the train car, Kurt searched the crowd for Blaine, but he was so short that it was nearly impossible to spot him in the swarm of people. April Rhodes, sobered up enough to walk on her own, though unsteadily in her precariously high heels, beckoned Kurt and Blaine into the train car. Blaine stepped up first, and Kurt saw that the hollowness and fear had disappeared from his eyes. Blaine waved to the crowd and gave a small, easy grin before entering the train. Kurt gave the crowd no acknowledgement, simply walked inside with what he hoped came off as haughty indifference.

Again, the boys had no opportunity to speak as April led each of them to separate cars on the train. Kurt's private car was more than twice the size of the tiny room he shared with Finn and even more luxurious than the room in the Justice Building. Kurt walked over to the dresser, his delicate fingers tracing the grain of the wood and absently opening one of the drawers to gaze down at elegant garments that cost more than his house. Even as he touched the soft fabrics, Kurt felt detached from this finery, still not settled with the idea of competing in the Warbler Games. Instead, Kurt focused on this one simple task, choosing a new outfit to wear to dinner, and tried not to think about anything beyond tonight. He carefully decided on a pair of fitted black pants and a pretty blue jacket to match his eyes. Without thinking about it, he took Rachel's star pin and fastened it to his new jacket before joining everyone else for dinner.

Several cars down, the others were already gathered at the dining table with a spread of more food that Kurt had ever seen in one place-freshly baked rolls, creamy soups, and well-cooked meats drizzled in sauces and surrounded with steaming vegetables. Blaine sat quietly while April filled the silence with her mindless chatter and spooned food onto his plate between gulps of wine. He gave Kurt a pleading look as April edged closer to him and pinched his cheek, and Kurt smirked back as he took his seat between Blaine and Jesse. As their coach for the Games, Kurt expected the young champion to begin strategizing immediately, but Jesse only sipped at a cup of coffee and left his food untouched.

Kurt looked down at the meal, then to Blaine for reassurance. Spending most of his life starving made Kurt somewhat wary about suddenly gorging himself on the Capitol's food. He watched as Blaine, who seemed to have the same reservations, sniffed a spoonful of some spicy orange soup.

Jesse let out a long, dramatically irritated sigh. "It's not poisoned. The Capitol has no need for dead tributes yet," he said airily. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

With one look at each other, Kurt and Blaine both piled their plates with food, and as politely as possible, Kurt stuffed himself with as much food as he could. He attempted to pace himself, knowing that the rich food may not sit well with him, but a lifetime of hunger made it impossible.

After dinner, which passed in almost complete silence, the party moved to another compartment on the train, with large, plush chairs and a massive television screen across one wall that showed recaps of the other reapings. Kurt and Blaine sat beside each other, both focused on scoping out their competition and determinedly avoiding eye contact as though to ignore the fact that they were competitors against each other as well.

As happened every year, the tributes from Districts One, Two, and Four were nearly all volunteers, healthy, strong boys who had trained their entire lives for the opportunity to compete for glory in the Warbler Games. The two boys from District Four amicably shook hands as the Panem anthem played at their reaping, both very handsome brunets roughly his age. The taller boy with a smooth, gorgeous smile turned fearlessly to the camera and winked at the audience, already campaigning for sponsors during the Games.

The reaping from District Seven lasted much longer than the others. When the first tributes' name was called, a tall, lanky boy of about fifteen, two small children with the same white blonde hair burst through the crowd in tears, none of them older than seven, and hugged their brother's knees. Even the stoic Peacekeepers were not cold enough to pull the children away from him. Kurt wondered who would tuck those children in tonight.

At long last, the District Twelve reaping, which felt like a lifetime ago instead of a few hours, replayed on the screen. From this perspective and with the editing of the Capitol, the story told on screen was meant to garner sympathy from the viewers. With a close up of Kurt's face as his brother was called and Finn's reaction to him taking his place, the Capitol enjoyed the story of brotherhood and family in a quaint, backwards place like District Twelve.

When Blaine's name was called, Kurt watched the light die in his eyes on screen, and he suppressed a strangled noise at the back of his own throat. It seemed that every moment, his mission was changing. Sometimes, he believed his father absolutely right and that he stood a fighting chance; however, when he remembered Blaine, his best friend, the boy he loved, and having to fight him in the arena, all he wanted was to make sure that Blaine returned safely to District Twelve. Ultimately, any hopes Kurt had were quickly consumed by the reality that neither of them were likely to return.

As the announcer's voice replaced Kurt and Blaine's image on screen, Blaine softly asked, "Are you all right?" His hand edged closer to Kurt's so that their fingertips almost brushed together, but Kurt placed his hand in his lap. He couldn't be close to Blaine, at least not until he decided what he would to in the arena.

"I'm fine," he lied.

Jesse sighed dramatically from his seat and stretched his legs. "If you two are going to be this sentimental about your competition, then you can forget about winning," he said, getting to his feet. "Not that either of you have a chance at all, but if you're this weak-"

Blaine got out of his seat and growled, "Sorry for being _human_ about all this, Jesse, but we were just taken away from our families to _murder_ innocent people."

Jesse smiled, his grin automatic and defensive rather than genuine and comforting like Blaine's usual smile. "You can't afford to be human, Blaine," he said, towering over the tribute and staring him down until Blaine blinked and backed away. "You need to be _better_ than human. You need to be a ruthless killing _machine_. Do you think the other tributes are sobbing into their handkerchiefs over Kurt volunteering in place of his oaf of a brother?" Kurt's lips parted to justify his choice, though the mention of home made his jaw tremble, and Jesse snapped at him, "That stunt of yours may be quality entertainment for the Capitol, but you've already revealed your weakness to your competition."

"Humanity is not a weakness," Blaine defended.

"See how far that gets you in the Games," Jesse said, sweeping out of the room before either of them could speak another word. Blaine and Kurt stood in stunned silence for a few long moments until April, who had fallen asleep on the couch during the District Three reaping, snorted and awakened, instructing them both to get some sleep before tomorrow before she dozed off again.

* * *

><p>After an hour of restless tossing and turning in bed, Kurt shuffled down the dark corridor of the train to Blaine's room and slipped inside. As he suspected, Blaine was lying awake and staring up at the shadows cast across the ceiling. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, voice slightly muffled as he turned to face his doorway.<p>

He shrugged. "I can't sleep without Finn's snoring."

Blaine nodded and pat the bed beside him, and Kurt gingerly climbed into beside him. He tucked the covers up to his neck and turned on his side, surprised to find Blaine staring back just a few inches away. "I haven't talked to you all day," Blaine said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

_Hopeless. Angry. Heartbroken._

"Full," he said, and Blaine chuckled. "I've never had so much to eat in my life. I suppose they're plumping us up for the slaughter."

Blaine blinked, keeping his eyes closed until he collected himself, but his eyes were glassy with tears. "Are you scared, Kurt?"

He bit on his bottom lip, gripping a pillow in his arms. "I don't want to die alone."

"You're not alone. You have me."

"For how long?"

There was no way to respond, so Blaine simply snuggled a bit closer, still carefully not to touch Kurt. Even with the bit of distance between them, Kurt felt the warmth radiating from Blaine, the kind that consumed him and touched his heart. Kurt opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could muster the words beyond Blaine's name, he slipped into an uneasy night of sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> First, apologies for the long delay in posting! I'm in the middle of finals, but in just one week, I will officially be on Winter Break and able to post more frequently. I just finished rereading _The Hunger Games _for the second time in its entirety, so I've got a lot of inspiration for the actual Games. (I hope you're not too attached to any characters, because it's going to be a bloodbath.)

There's been a lot of interest in seeing the other tributes, so I hope you enjoyed the brief glimpse of Districts Four and Seven. In the next chapter, you'll be meeting Kurt and Blaine's stylists, whom I hope you will enjoy.

Finally, thank you for all your kind reviews! They mean the world to me, and please continue to read and review!


	5. Chapter 5

**The Warbler Games**

**Part One || The Tributes**

**Chapter Five**

Throughout the night on the train, Kurt dozed off for no more than a few restless minutes at a time before shuddering awake again. Whenever he managed a few moments of sleep, nightmares of his family suffering the horrific deaths of Warbler Games past burned in his eyes until he jerked upright in bed, heartbeat pounding in his ears and shivering violently even underneath the luxurious down comforter. A final vision of Blaine, smiling and laughing in their meadow, was viciously marred by blossoms of deep red blood soaking through his shirt before he collapsed at Kurt's feet.

Kurt woke with a start, gasping for shallow breaths and dropping his gaze immediately onto Blaine, who was alive and asleep beside him. The early morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains of the car, casting a soft light on Blaine, giving him the brief illusion of peace. As Kurt carefully slipped out of the bed, Blaine clutched his pillow more tightly against his chest, mumbling in distress as he was no doubt plagued by similar nightmares of the upcoming weeks. However, Kurt doubted that Blaine faced the same internal battle that he had been fighting for the past day. (Had it really only been a day - even _less_ than a day - since April Rhodes had called their names on the platform in District Twelve?)

During the night, Kurt had come no closer to deciding what he would do once he got into the arena. Kurt wanted to live, but his chances of winning were next to nothing. If he was going to die anyway, he reasoned, then he might as well do everything he could to protect Blaine from the other tributes and give him a greater chance of safely returning home. However, protecting Blaine at the beginning of the Games meant that Kurt might watch Blaine die, or even worse, want to kill Blaine himself. Again, all of this was contingent on both of them even living through the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

Over and over again, Kurt repeated these scenarios in his head, imagining every outcome he could. In all of his confusion, one thing became clear to Kurt; if either he or Blaine had any chance at all of surviving the Games, they needed help.

* * *

><p>After dressing in clean, unwrinkled clothes from his room, Kurt headed to the dining compartment. Though he was the first one to arrive, plates of steaming food, baskets of freshly baked bread and ripe, colorful fruits were waiting on the table. Kurt poured himself a cup of coffee, adding rich cream and several spoonfuls of sugar while he chewed on some flaky pastry with jam. Again, he focused on just this one task, eating breakfast, not thinking about how few meals he had left between now and the Games.<p>

Not much later, while Kurt thoughtfully sipped his coffee, Blaine joined him, sitting across the table and giving Kurt a small smile before he poured himself some oatmeal. For a long while, the two boys ate in silence. It was not quite as comfortable as it might have been before this day, for even if they were friends, they were competitors, but silence was preferable to the superficially happy or honest and morbid conversation that would doubtlessly take its place.

April arrived with a clang, slamming the door open and shut and exclaiming, "Morning, boys!" before sitting down close to Blaine and chattering on about their schedule for the day. They would arrive in the Capitol in the afternoon, meet with their stylists, and attend the Opening Ceremonies.

"A couple of handsome fellows like you will give your stylists something to smile about," she said eagerly, nudging Blaine and winking across the table at Kurt. "A few years back, our boys went into the Opening Ceremonies wearing nothing but coal dust!" April fanned herself and whistled, "Something like that will _definitely_ get the audience all hot and bothered. You'll light the whole place on fire!"

"The only thing that will catch on fire is your breath from all of the alcohol," Jesse drawled as he strolled in, a slight acidity to his teasing. His barely acknowledged his tributes, bestowing upon them one haughty, superior glance before looking back to April. "Isn't it a bit early for that?" he scolded playfully.

"It's a big day, I'm just taking the edge off," April reasoned with a grin. She reached into the pocket of her fluffy pink jacket and took out a flask, then she muttered to Blaine, "Liquid courage, kid?"

He swallowed a bite of toast and politely replied, "No, thank you."

As Jesse poured himself coffee, Kurt set down his own cup and took a deep breath before addressing the former champion. "Jesse, you have to mentor us."

"The only thing I _have_ to do, Kurt, is go to the Capitol, flash a show smile for the cameras, and give a trite sentimental interview when your dead bodies are projected on television across Panem," Jesse said indifferently, the corners of his lips threatening to twitch into a smirk. "If I conjure up a few tears, do you think that will comfort your father?"

Before his brain could intervene and stop his body, Kurt snapped. Beneath all of his sadness and hopeless, the rage in his heart had finally been unearthed and ignited by Jesse. Kurt seized the knives at his place setting, clutching one in each hand, before he threw one after the other spinning straight through the air. Jesse ducked his head, each knife whirring just over his hair and the dull blades plunging into the wall behind him.

Realizing what he had just done, Kurt stood completely still, eyes wide and moving slowly from the butter knives in the wall, back to Jesse as the Warbler Games winner drew himself upright. Anticipating a counterstrike, or at least a verbal thrashing, Kurt's muscles tightened and did not relax even as Jesse smiled at him.

"Impressive," he whispered, not even a trace of annoyance in his voice as he nodded at Kurt before turning to Blaine. Kurt hadn't even noticed that Blaine too was on his feet, shoulders squared to Jesse and his hands in tight fists at his sides. "Your turn, Blaine. _Dazzle_ me."

"What are you talking about?" Kurt asked him angrily. "Do you think this is a _game_?"

"This _is_ a Game," Jesse said, walking around his chair to roughly pull out the knives protruding from the wall. "I can only help you two if you want to get home. I refuse to help you if you don't desire with _every fiber of your being_ to return to District Twelve." He gingerly handed the knives back to Kurt. "You can throw knives with a decent amount of accuracy. What else can you do?"

"He can use a bow and arrow," Blaine offered for Kurt, though he did not meet Kurt's eyes over the table. "We used to hunt in the woods together, and he was always the better hunter. He works best as a close range, so the knives will probably be more useful than a bow."

Before Jesse spoke, Kurt interjected, "Blaine can fight. At school, I've seen him. He can do hand to hand combat. Finn come home with a black eye courtesy of Blaine."

"But I'm not great with weapons," Blaine admitted, his cheeks blushing. "Not like Kurt is."

"Now isn't the time to be modest, not when pointing out your weaknesses is so easy. The other tributes will have no trouble finding them and using them against you. Both of you. You come from the weakest district, you have no training, and neither of you are particularly physically intimidating," Jesse said, and Kurt almost rolled his eyes. He stopped himself, because even if it was a warped sense of coaching, having Jesse and his experience on their side would be invaluable.

Jesse paused to take a deep breath, then softly continued, "The important thing tonight, when your presented to the crowd as tributes in the Opening Ceremonies, is to show everyone that you _are_ contenders in the Games. You have strengths, and you have the ambition to win."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> First of all Happy New Year, readers! Next, I apologize for the heinously long delay in publishing this chapter; I had some things to deal with post-holidays, but I will post more regularly from now on. Fortunately, I used my hiatus to read _Mockingjay_ and to write a large part of the Games for this fic.

Once again, thank you for your extremely supportive and sweet reviews, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one will follow within the week.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Warbler Games**

**Part One || The Tributes**

**Chapter Six**

Once the train pulled into the Capitol, Kurt only caught a glimpse of the glittering city before he was separated from Blaine and taken to meet his stylist for the Warbler Games. In the Remake Center, Kurt shivered in a pristine white room, his flimsy robe neglected on the floor as his prep team worked on cleaning him to meet the standards of his stylist. The moment he had set foot in the room, three young women descended upon him, hurriedly stripping him of his clothes and rubbing his skin raw with a rough exfoliant. Kurt remained quiet unless spoken to, determined to keep his chin held high despite his complete humiliation at being stark naked in front of three complete strangers. However, the girls seemed unbothered and filled the silence with their frivolous gossip and occasional comments about Kurt's presentation at the Opening Ceremony this evening.

"You're not nearly as hairy as most of the guys we see in here," Quinn observed with a saccharine smile. She was dressed in the odd, opulent fashions of the Capitol, her short hair dyed a shocking shade of pink, and her eyes smudged with a ring of black. She tilted Kurt's chin up with her leather gloved hand and plucked his eyebrows to create a neater arch.

Santana, whose long black hair was pulled up tight and cascaded in a long line down her back, laughed dryly as she removed the remaining dirt from beneath Kurt's fingernails. "What are you? Thirteen?"

Kurt closed his eyes and took a deep breath before correcting, "Sixteen."

Brittany took Kurt's other hand and paused to gently thumb over his knuckles. "How do you get your hands so soft?" she asked with genuine curiosity. Unlike Quinn and Santana, her look was much less severe and more luminous, the contours of her face highlighted with pinks and whites so that she gave off an ethereal glow.

"I use duck fat," Kurt explained, pleased when Brittany smiled in reply and gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

After thoroughly coating Kurt in a final layer of oil, his prep team stepped away from him. Santana twirled her finger, signaling for Kurt to spin for them so they could admire their handiwork. "Well," she sighed, "we've done the best with what we had to work with." She smirked and gave Kurt a wink, and he forced a smile back. Before Kurt had stepped off the train, Jesse advised him that his stylist and prep team's requests were to be taken as law; the way they decided to present Kurt to the audience could make him a favorite of the crowd and the sponsors and give him an edge in the arena.

"We'll tell Sue you're ready," Quinn said, but no sooner had she spoken then a tall figured appeared in the doorway wearing a solid red jacket and pants.

"No need, Raccoon Face, I'm here. Out," she commanded, and the girls slinked out the door without glancing back at him.

As Sue took a few steps towards him, Kurt fearlessly held her unrelenting stare. Sue Sylvester, whom he recognized as a stylist from the Games for as long as he could remember, always dressed plainly herself, but she boasted some of the most over-the-top and spectacular ensembles in the history of the Warbler Games. Last Games, Kurt recalled the costume Sue had constructed for District Seven, whose main export was lumber and other paper products. As tributes' costumes traditionally reflected the flavor of their District, last year's District Sevens went into the Opening Ceremony not simply adormed in bark, but tangled in thick, winding vines that extended several feet over the tributes' heads and housed a family of birds indigenous to District Seven.

"Porcelain," she said at last.

Unable to stop himself, he supplied, "My name Kurt."

"Unimportant," she said, walking out of the tiled room and giving Kurt no choice but to follow. "I've never designed for District Twelve before, Porcelain, but I've also never had a tribute without top sponsorship in the arena. I intend to sell your sweet, virgin soul to that bloodthirsty crowd, use your innocent appeal to make a killing, so to speak, and take the money and buy my own hovercraft."

"Why would you _want_ to work on District Twelve?" he asked then quickly backpedaled on his shortness. "You must be able to take you pick of district, you're one of the best—"

"_The_ best."

"—in the Capitol."

Instead of lambasting him, she smirked. "Once you've achieved success in the Games — highly unlikely for you, with your delicate skin and lady hands — success gets tiring, even boring. I need a challenge, Twelve, and styling you will be my crowning achievement."

* * *

><p>After several long hours of Sue overseeing his prep team as they executed her design, Kurt looked at himself in the mirror and gasped. Tributes from the coal mining district were normally strapped into unflattering mining gear for the Opening Ceremony, but Sue had taken the challenge and worked it to Kurt's advantage. His black jumpsuit glittered like jagged granite, the rough fabric sharply cutting his muscles and giving them more definition. His exposed collarbone and neck were dusted in shimmering black so that the fabric seamlessly faded into his naturally fair complexion. Along his left shoulder and trailing along his neck to cheek, red and gold gemstones glittered against his skin. Finally, Sue had dyed his hair a gentle auburn and perfectly coiffed it before setting the tips in gold, giving Kurt the illusion that he was on fire.<p>

"Outstanding," Sue complimented herself, gripping his shoulder tightly and grimacing (he supposed it was the closest thing to a smile he would get) at their reflections in the mirror.

* * *

><p>Beneath the Remake Center, a long room housed the chariots and horses that would pull the tributes through the streets of the Capitol and around the City Circle. Sue directed him, muttering into Kurt's ear to avoid looking at any of the other tributes around him and to keep his chin tilted up, before she led him to the chariot where April, Jesse, Blaine, and a burly woman with short, curly brown hair, presumably Blaine's stylist, were already waiting. Blaine wore the same jumpsuit as Kurt, the fabric sculpting the muscles of his torso and arms so that Kurt had to consciously remind himself to keep his eyes on Blaine's face. Blaine's stylist, a much friendlier and supportive woman than Sue named Shannon Beiste, had forgone the jewels and instead kept Blaine's look more harsh and dark than Kurt's.<p>

"_Wow_," Blaine whispered as the two of them got into the chariot, finally having a moment to themselves without their teams. "You look amazing."

"You too," Kurt said, hoping his makeup concealed his blushing cheeks and staring straight ahead, determinedly not making eye contact with anyone.

Out of the corner of Kurt's eye, he saw Blaine smile. "Are you nervous?"

"Of course not," he lied, though he nervously wrung his hands and could hardly muster a smile. "It's only an audience of thousands here in the Capitol and hundreds of thousands watching across Panem, not to mention the fact that somewhere in District Twelve our families are huddled around the televisions to watch ever second they can of us while we're still breathing." With each word he spoke, Kurt felt his heart pound more quickly in his chest, and he tried to match Blaine's encouraging smile. "I'm not nervous."

"Don't worry," Blaine said softly, grabbing one of Kurt's hands and intertwining their fingers. "I've got you."

Just a few moments before their chariot left, Jesse stood beside them, dressed in a deep blue suit and black shirt, his hair in messy curls and a sly grin on his face. "I don't care how uncomfortable your clothes are or how terrified you are of being dead by this time next week," he said, again exhibiting his uncanny ability to mentor while tearing them down to pieces. "The moment you get outside, smile until your jaw muscles are locked that way."

Blaine gripped Kurt's hand more tightly and said, "Anything else?"

Jesse grinned. "Light up the world, boys."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> As always, thank you so much for your sweet reviews, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. In just three chapters or so, the story will be moving into the arena. Of course, that's not before Kurt and Blaine make friends and enemies with the other tributes, perform for the Gamemakers, and come up with a plan for the arena with Jesse's influence. Thank you for reading and please review if you have the chance!


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